


Off To Hogwarts, Dear?

by Glass_CatOwl



Series: Returning & Other Stories [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And a Diagon Alley binge, Essentially a character introduction for OCs who may become important later, Except his actual children, Family Relationships - Freeform, Friendship, Gen, I don't seem to be able to write plain fluff without a shot of angst for some reason, I shall tag more as events unfold, It's all cutesy and nice and then suddenly FIRE AT THE ORPHANAGE, Minor Angst, Mostly Fluff, Not Cursed Child Compliant, Part-humans gonna stick together, Preparing for School, Rita Skeeter has declared every child of this generation to be Harry's, Wandlore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-09-25 19:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9840800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glass_CatOwl/pseuds/Glass_CatOwl
Summary: Side-fic toReturning. A collection of short stories about first year students' trips to Diagon Alley in 2017. Minor OCs and relatives of canon characters abound.





	1. Eleanor Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Minor original character death (mentioned). Angry wand. That's about it, let me know if there's anything else.
> 
> I was in the middle of writing the Ollivanders' section of this when I heard about John Hurt's death. May he rest in peace.

Eleanor Bones didn’t know if she should be the least excited new student going to Hogwarts or the most excited. Magic was not new to her, although it would be new to be performing it with her own wand and not under her mother’s supervision. Having lived most of her life in Hogsmeade with her mother, who was the Defence Against the Dark Art professor at the school, Hogwarts did not hold a great deal of mystery for her, nor would she be particularly far from home. In fact, if it weren’t for a stay with her godmother in town just before September first, Eleanor suspected she wouldn’t bother with the train at all; why travel all the way to London when she could simply walk up to the Hogsmeade station from their cottage and meet the Hogwarts Express when it arrived?

On the other hand, Eleanor was a lonely child. The only other children in Hogsmeade were the students from the school who visited on certain weekends, and they were much older than her. She’d made the odd friend here and there over her life, but they weren’t friendships that lasted beyond the inevitable separation. The thought of going to school with dozens of other children her age was thrilling, if a little terrifying. What if nobody liked her? What if her housemates hated her, or what if she failed all her classes and was expelled just as she was making possible friends? What if everyone there was awful or rude or cruel?

Eleanor did her best not to let her worries show on her face, but her godmother must have noticed something was wrong, because she came to an abrupt stop just outside the Magical Menagerie. “Let’s rest for a minute,” declared Hannah, not looking the slightest bit puffed. Eleanor’s godmother was very energetic for a witch nearly seven months pregnant with twins. Eleanor supposed it came from working as the Hogwarts matron, which was by all accounts a seriously hectic job. “So, do you want an owl for your birthday?”

Eleanor shrugged, looking through the window of the store. A large scarlet lizard looked back at her lazily. “I don’t really have anyone to write to,” she told Hannah. “I mean, I’ll see Mum every day at school and I can always borrow one of the school owls to write to you if she’s using Gerron.” Gerron was her mother’s aging male Snowy owl. He was at least as old as Eleanor herself, and probably several years older, but despite his age he showed no signs that he was ready to fall off his perch.

“What about to write to your friends during the holidays?” Hannah suggested lightly. “Won’t you want your own owl for that?”

‘I don’t even know if I’ll _have_ friends yet,’ she wanted to say, but knew her godmother would insist that of course she would make great friends at Hogwarts. Instead she replied, “I can still borrow Gerron, and there’s always the post office. Besides, they’ll probably have owls of their own.”

Hannah made a ‘hmm’ing sound that Eleanor knew as her “bad diagnosis” noise. The young girl blushed and turned back to the lizard in the window, which was now sunning itself happily. “Well, maybe we should have a look inside. You might see an owl you like after all.”

Reluctantly, Eleanor followed her godmother into the cramped, smelly store. The floor and shelves were crowded with cages and tanks for all manner of creatures, very few of which were of the kind Hogwarts would allow. She sighed wistfully as they passed the lizard.

The owls were in a darkened corner at the very back of the shop, blinking and hooting softly. The Magical Menagerie only seemed to have tawny owls and barn owls at the moment, though one barn owl near the back looked like it had stuck its beak up a chimney. “That’s a masked owl,” Hannah told her. “Neville has one, it’s a darling.”

A witch in her twenties with wild brown hair appeared suddenly, bearing a rather dismal-looking Muggle folding chair. “Do you want to have a seat, ma’am, while your daughter has a look around?” offered the witch. Hannah smiled at her kindly.

“Oh, that would be lovely. This is my goddaughter, Eleanor; we’re looking for a pet for her to take to Hogwarts with her.”

“Just got your letter?” the witch asked Eleanor brightly. “Ooh, I remember when I first got mine. Were you thinking of an owl?”

The masked owl eyed Eleanor with loathing and the girl turned away quickly. Birds always seemed to hate her, except for Gerron, and even he only tolerated her at the best of times. “What’s that lizard?” she asked in lieu of a reply, pointing to the enclosure at the front of the store. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

The witch seemed slightly taken aback. “Oh, I don’t think they’d let you take her to Hogwarts. Kylie’s prone to nipping people’s toes.”

“I know, but what is… Kylie?” Eleanor had been under the impression that ‘Kylie’ was the name of some Muggle pop singer. Unless some seriously illegal Transfiguration had been going on, clearly she had been mistaken.

The witch lowered her voice conspiratorially, leading Eleanor towards the enclosure. “Well, officially she’s a goanna with magical powers, but I’ve heard tell of some breeding experiments in Australia involving goannas and large salamanders — and Kylie does occasionally breathe fire.”

Kylie the goanna yawned and Eleanor heard a sound like crackling flames, but no fireballs appeared. The sales-witch gave Eleanor a conspiratorial wink and raised a finger to her lips. The red-haired girl grinned back, nodding. Her mother would probably say she should report the witch for knowingly displaying an illegal hybrid, but the sales-witch only _suspected_ Kylie’s origins, so that was alright, wasn’t it?

She stared at the goanna for a little while longer before moving over to examine the fire crab, a turtle-like creature with a jewel-encrusted shell. The sales-witch talked about the special license she had needed to get to stock them after the last owner had handed over the reigns of the store to her. Hannah agreed that a fire crab was hardly an ideal pet to take to Hogwarts, so Eleanor reluctantly moved over to the toads.

Toads weren't a fashionable pet, but they didn’t have an instinctive dislike for her and the sales-witch informed them that certain breeds secreted slime from their skin that was a useful potions ingredient. Eleanor rather liked the look of the Crested toad, although she wasn’t really sure she wanted a toad without a tank to keep it in, even if it was magical. She was contemplating the brightly coloured Harlequin toad when she felt something brush against her leg and, looking down, discovered a peculiar-looking cat.

It was small but stocky and covered in sleek grey fur, with tiny ears and barely any tail. Its paws were all black and one of its green eyes was smaller than the other, giving it a lopsided look. Its tongue lolled out lazily, almost doglike, and when she leant down to pat it, the cat dragged its tongue across her hand like wet sandpaper.

Feeling oddly exposed under the cat’s intense gaze, Eleanor tried to be as discreet as possible in wiping her hand off on her pants. The cat responded by rubbing up against her leg and leaving a fine layer of grey hairs on her shoes. Frowning, Eleanor rubbed her shoe off on a nearby cage and went over to look at a Crup — or she assumed it must be a Crup, although it might have been an ordinary Jack Russell Terrier, as its second tail had already been removed. The dog sniffed at her fingertips curiously, but before it could take further interest in her the cat — which had followed her — leapt on top of the cage, setting the dog barking furiously. Several other animals joined in loudly.

“Sif, get down!” cried the sales-witch. “I’m so sorry, she’s usually so good about jumping up on things.”

But Eleanor was focused mainly on the cat. They stared each other down for a moment, Eleanor wracking her brains trying to figure out what it wanted. There was plenty of food, and the animals all looked well tended. The cat’s gaze darted towards the door for a second and suddenly she understood. Eleanor leaned forward and whispered in its stubby ear.

“If you don’t behave, I’m going to walk right out of here and never come back.”

The cat glowered for a moment, then leapt gracefully down from the Crup’s cage. It sat preening near her feet, but didn’t make any more trouble.

She briefly looked at the other cats — some of them were in closed baskets, while others were loose and roaming the store, a long-legged black one lazing about on the counter, eyeing the cage of rats. The rats were sweet little things, bright-eyed and full of enthusiasm, but Eleanor had the sneaking suspicion that they wouldn’t be all that good at taking care of themselves.

“Are all the cats for sale?” she asked the sales-witch.

“All except Bastet on the counter there. She’s my guard cat,” the sales-witch said with a laugh. “Always making sure nobody steals any rats.”

“Do you like the cats, Eleanor?” Hannah asked, looking enthusiastic. Cats might not send letters, but they were a good reliable pet nonetheless.

Eleanor nodded. “I think Sif — that’s her name, isn’t it? — wants to come to Hogwarts with me.” The grey bob-tailed cat rubbed against her leg, purring.

“Ah, the brave adventurer,” the sales-witch said, smiling. “Sif’s always looking for some excitement, though I’d have to say she usually takes less to people and more to open doors. I’d keep an eye on her before you get to school.”

Sif reluctantly allowed herself to be locked in a carrying basket while Hannah paid. Eleanor guessed that the cat was plotting her escape already, but she couldn’t help but admire that ambition even as she, in turn, planned to thwart it.

They left the shop, thanking the sales-witch and saying goodbye to Kylie the goanna. “I thought I would have to pry you away from that lizard,” Hannah said as they walked into Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment. “I hope it isn’t dangerous.”

“Kylie’s a dear,” Eleanor said in the manner of one discussing an old friend. “The list says I need some scales, a telescope, a pewter cauldron, glass or crystal phials…”

“Don’t forget the dragon hide gloves for Herbology,” her godmother reminded her. “We’ll get the cauldron at Potage’s. I’d get glass phials while you’re just starting out, they’re just as good and cheaper to replace.”

Sif, safely locked in her basket, sniffed at the rows of shiny metal instruments as Eleanor searched for the telescopes. She had finally found the brass ones piled on a shelf under several discounted moon globes when another girl turned into the aisle. She was about Eleanor’s age or maybe younger, a pale little girl with black hair and large, doleful green eyes. She was dressed in robes and clutching a sheet of parchment. Sif stood up in her basket and sniffed in the direction of the newcomer.

“Were you looking for the telescopes?” Eleanor asked, guessing that this girl was a new Hogwarts student too.

“Sorry, um… I… scales…” the girl mumbled, consulting her list with trembling fingers. “Yes, I-I need a brass telescope, did you know— Oh, they’re right there, thank you…” She stumbled forwards, tugging at her robes in a manner Eleanor recognised — formal robes were always uncomfortable.

Eleanor pulled two from the pile and handed one to the girl. “Are you going to Hogwarts too?”

The pale girl nodded. “I got my letter,” she said with what sounded like a mixture of pride and relief. “M-my name’s Millie.” She hastily shoved the telescope under her arm and held out her hand.

Eleanor shook it. “I’m Eleanor. I’ll be in first year too. The scales are up the back of the store, by the way.”

Millie stared at her. "How did you know—?"

"You mentioned that you were looking for them before. Besides, we have the same list." Eleanor showed her the letter she had tucked into her pocket. "Are you with your parents? I'm shopping with my godmother."

"My sister's here, I mean, she's not _here_ here, but she's with me. I think she went to Flourish and Blotts to get our books, but I forgot to give her the list of my books so I don't know if she's got them and I don't know where the shop is..." She bit her lip and looked like she was trying not to cry.

This girl, Eleanor concluded, was a nervous wreck. But she seemed to be a perfectly nice nervous wreck, so Eleanor said, "Well, I think we're going to get my books next, so if you want to, you can come with us when you're done picking out your things here."

Millie looked at Eleanor like she had just saved her from a grizzly bear. "Thank you, that- that would be good..." she mumbled, and nearly dropped her telescope. Eleanor helped her get a grip on it and led them down towards the phials. Millie picked out a set of crystal ones — apparently, her parents had recommended them — and Eleanor took a glass set, then they made their way to the back of the store where Hannah was looking at brass scales. Millie's large eyes widened further when she saw Hannah's pregnant belly. Eleanor couldn't help but think (rather unkindly) that her new companion evidently didn't get out much.

Hannah was a little more understanding. "Hello there," she said when she noticed Millie. "Are you going to Hogwarts too?"

Millie nodded, dragging her eyes away from Hannah's large baby bump. "I got my letter," she said, a little faintly.

"Millie's going to come with us to Flourish and Blotts," Eleanor said quickly. "She's meeting her sister there after she's found her things."

"Well, we can help you with that. Are you looking for scales?" Hannah asked, and when Millie nodded she pulled down an extra set for her. "So, that's scales, telescopes, phials... That looks like it for here. Do you want to go get a cauldron first, Millie, or will your sister be waiting for you?"

"I think I'm supposed to get a cauldron first, if that's not out of your way," Millie said politely, looking nervous.

Hannah smiled. "No, that's just fine. We need to get Eleanor a cauldron too. Let's go pay for these things, girls."

While their purchases were being wrapped, Hannah explained to Millie that she was usually the matron at Hogwarts, but she was taking time off for her twins to be born. "You look very familiar, you know," Hannah said mildly. "Is your sister at Hogwarts?"

"Do you know Jai?" Millie asked eagerly. She seemed to be relaxing a bit, probably because of Hannah’s reassuring manner, well-honed from years of calming stressed students. “Jai Tirnblüd?”

Eleanor frowned. Her mother had definitely mentioned a troublesome student with that name, but… “I thought that was a boy’s name.”

“It’s short for Josephine Ingrid,” Millie explained. “But don’t call her Josephine, she hates it.”

“That can be attested to,” Hannah said wryly. “Yes, I’ve seen her in the hospital wing a few times. She’s a bright girl, though I hope you won’t follow in her footsteps when it comes to fighting.”

Millie shook her head vigorously. “Oh, I wouldn’t. I don’t even know any hexes yet.”

Hannah looked less than reassured by that.

Potage’s Cauldron Shop was a quick stop. There was a large pile of size 2 pewter cauldrons right out the front of the shop and soon they were heading towards Flourish and Blotts with their purchases arranged haphazardly in their cauldrons. Eleanor turned down Hannah’s offer to carry Sif’s basket. “Mum said you’re not supposed to be carrying heavy stuff at the moment.”

Hannah looked slightly miffed. “You can tell Susan that I’m pregnant, not infirm.”

“She told me to remind you what you were like when she was pregnant with me.”

“That was different.”

“Mmhm.”

With an exasperated sigh, Hannah conceded. Millie peered inside Sif’s basket. “What kind of cat is that?”

“Dunno,” Eleanor replied. “She’s a bit of a moggie, really.”

“She’s not a domestic shorthair,” Millie said. “She’s got a bobtail but the wrong ears for a Manx. It’s funny, she looks a bit like a British Blue but with gloves like a Birman, only they have white gloves, not black.” She stopped, going pink. “I-I’m not allowed pets, so I read lots of books about animals at the library.”

Millie was saved from explaining further when they arrived at Flourish and Blotts. The store was fairly busy, and it took a few minutes of searching before Hannah spotted a girl of about thirteen in the duelling section.

“Please don’t learn any more hexes, Miss Tirnblüd,” Hannah said firmly.

Jai Tirmblüd jumped and stuffed the book she had been looking at back into the shelf. “Madam Abbott!” She recovered quickly, breaking into a sly grin. “So, not restricted to the hospital wing yet?”

Millie’s sister looked very like her and very unlike her at the same time. She had the same black hair, only cut to chin length and with a distinct curl to it — Millie’s hair was long and limp in comparison. Jai’s eyes were narrower and somehow more catlike, and she was not as gaunt as her sister, looking like she spent most of her time outside. She had an ear cuff of a silver snake curled around her left ear, which quite suddenly lifted its head and let out its tiny silver tongue.

Her mother, Eleanor felt, would not like this girl, and as a result Eleanor warmed to her immediately.

Hannah looked less impressed. “I am not having my babies in the school hospital wing.” Before Jai could make another sly remark, Hannah continued, “This is my goddaughter, Eleanor. We came across your sister in Wiseacre’s — I think she’s just over by the Magizoology books…”

Millie had indeed found a corner full of books about magical creatures and was poring over _The Wise Sisters’ Guide to Keeping Winged Horses_. Jai hugged her around the shoulders, catching the book when she dropped it in surprise.

“Got everything, Millie?” Jai asked, picking up her sister’s cauldron. “Our books are at the counter.” She checked the price of the book her sister had been reading and tucked it under her arm with a furtive smile. “Don’t tell Mum and Dad.”

Millie agreed eagerly. She turned to Eleanor and asked, “Have you got your wand yet? We’re going there next.”

Jai looked impatient, so Eleanor said, “We’ll get my books and meet you at Ollivanders. My mum says wand choosing takes a while.”

Millie and her sister left and Eleanor started looking for the books on her list. Her mum had enough books on duelling that she knew they wouldn’t be much good to her until she had a thorough grasp of the basics, although she hesitated over _Hexing For Beginners_ before Hannah called her away. At the counter there were piles of shiny reprints of _Dumbledore’s Army: The Dark Side of the Demob_ proudly proclaiming their new content on the unscrupulous political machinations of former DA members. Eleanor made a face — Rita Skeeter had once spent a week camped out in their garden, pestering her mother for a story of a tumultuous love affair that left Susan a single parent, and eventually giving up and citing ‘rumour’ that Eleanor was the result of an affair between Susan and Harry Potter himself during their time together in the Auror department. Eleanor had been fuming, but her mother was calm. “It’s not even close to the truth,” she had said as she directed the hate mail into the fireplace. “You know that.” Nonetheless, it made Eleanor growl every time someone mentioned ‘Harry Potter’s Secret Lovechild’, although there was some comfort that she was neither the first nor the last to be given that title.

She and Hannah made their way down the street and stopped in front of a dim window. Peering into the darkness, Eleanor could see that someone had tried to set up an attractive display of wands on fancy stands, but there had been an obvious disagreement on the subject of lighting. As they entered, she realised why: the two people in the shop were an extremely old man and a woman of maybe twenty. The woman had a dark brown complexion and long black hair, while the man had papery skin and white hair, but they both had the same curious silver eyes. They were arguing fiercely over which wand ought to be tried next, while Millie waited near them, unconsciously moving behind her sister.

The old man, who Eleanor recognised by description as Mr Ollivander, noticed them standing in the doorway. “Ama, won’t you help these customers? Now, Miss Tirnblüd—”

“After he makes you try the apple wand, try something with willow,” Ama ordered Millie, before turning to Hannah and Eleanor and asking brightly, “What can I do for you today?”

“Eleanor here is looking for her first wand,” Hannah explained.

The lightbulb above her head shattered — Millie hastily dropped the apple wand back on the counter. Ama gave Ollivander a warning look. With great dignity, he slid a box off a nearby shelf and presented the wand inside to Millie. “Willow and unicorn hair.” The moment she lifted the wand he snatched it away and went hunting for another option.

Ama turned back to Hannah and Eleanor and pulled out a tape measure with silver markings at intervals that indicated neither inches nor centimetres. It began to measure Eleanor’s height, the circumference of her head, the length of her arms, while Ama looked through a shelf and selected a few more wands for Millie to try. “Wand hand?”

“Sinister,” Eleanor replied. Ama raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, family joke. I’m left handed.”

“Right then,” Ama said, plucking the tape measure out of the air. She pursed her lips and then swept to the back of the shop, pulling out several boxes and piling them up on the counter. “I would try this one first — blackthorn and dragon heartstring, pliable.”

Eleanor obediently gave the wand a little wave, wondering if she ought to try a simple spell, but Ama shook her head and offered her a different wand, this one described as “Pine and dragon heartstring, bit swishy.”

After a few more failed attempts, Ollivander swept over with another set of boxes. “Stop giving her heartstring,” he told Ama irritably. “Here, girl, ebony and unicorn hair.” Eleanor had barely touched the wand before the old man snatched it from her fingers. “No, not ebony, not ebony…” He turned back to Ama. “Yew, no less than eleven inches, and _no heartstring_.”

With a sigh of exasperation, Ama headed to the back shelf of the store and began examining the labels on the wand boxes. She returned with a single box. “Yew and unicorn hair, twelve and three-quarter inches.” She glanced at the old man for approval; he nodded slowly.

The wand was of unstained wood, a sandy yellow with waves of soft orange through the grain. It was such a warm, almost sunny colour that it was hard to believe in its dark reputation. But she knew quite well that Tom Riddle himself had carried a yew wand, and so had her father. She glanced at Ollivander. Why had he chosen _yew_? Did he know about her father, the circumstances of his death and her birth? Or did he see something else in her? It made her feel vaguely ill. _I’ll say it’s not right,_ she decided. _I’ll try something else._

She picked up the wand.

The effect was instantaneous. Her arm felt like it was on fire; her hand gripped the handle as if stuck there with concrete. Her breath caught in her throat and her vision blurred. Sparks burst from the wand’s tip and landed on her fingers with tiny pinpricks of pain. The pommel dug into her palm as though it was trying to take root.

Suddenly, her fingers came unstuck and she all but threw the wand back onto the counter. “No,” she said, her voice hoarse. “No, I don’t want that one.”

“But it chose you,” Ama said, taken aback.

“It _hurt_ me,” Eleanor shot back, already moving away from the wand as though it might bite her. “I don’t want it!”

Ama began to object, but Mr Ollivander silenced her with a look. “What was your name?” he asked Eleanor. His face was unreadable.

“Eleanor Bones.” Had he known? Was he trying to fool her?

“Miss Bones, please come outside with me for a moment. Ama, you can take over with Miss Tirnblüd.” He led her to a side door and into a quiet sidestreet.

Eleanor followed, feeling sick to the stomach. Nobody she knew had ever described choosing a wand as unpleasant, let alone distressing. They usually said it was like drinking hot cocoa on a cold day, or reconnecting with an old friend. It was meant to be something beautiful and magical and _right_ , not ugly and painful.

In the clear sunlight, Mr Ollivander looked even older than she had first though. He had to be at least a hundred. His wrinkled skin looked as though it might tear at the slightest touch. But his silvery eyes were alive with knowledge and understanding. “I assume you had some personal reason for not wanting that particular wand. _Before_ it chose you,” he added, before she could object. “I won’t ask you what it is, as something that caused so adverse a reaction must be quite painful in itself. You must understand, however, that wands are very possessive objects. You will no doubt have noticed no witch or wizard ever carries more than one wand, even among Aurors. A wand does not like to share its owner, and the resulting misbehaviour makes owning two wands more dangerous than useful. Likewise, a wand once it has chosen its true master cannot be easily swayed from its choice. Your rejection fought with its claim on you, and caused you pain.”

Eleanor couldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t want it,” she repeated hoarsely.

“I wonder, Miss Bones, if your life hasn’t been rather tied up in death somehow. That is the speciality of yew wands — the intermingling of life and death.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had never really been close to death before, not from the day of her birth, but before that… “My father died the day Mum found out she was pregnant with me,” she admitted. “He was— he turned out to be a Dark wizard, and he was killed in a duel with an Auror. He had a yew-wood wand.”

“Ah. You think being chosen by this wand means you will become a Dark witch.” Spoken out loud, in the sunny street, the idea seemed ridiculous, but Ollivander continued, “I have no doubt that you _could_ become a violent criminal if that was the path you chose, but it is not a wand which makes that choice for you. All wands have the potential to kill, just as all people do.” He peered at her with those unnerving silver eyes. “They also have the potential to do an enormous amount of good in the world.”

With that, the old man shuffled back inside, leaving Eleanor to her thoughts.

Several minutes later, Eleanor reentered the store. Jai was handing over seven Galleons as Millie examined her new wand. “Willow and phoenix feather,” Ama was telling Ollivander, with a smidge of _I told you so_ in her voice. Hannah was watching Eleanor, looking worried. The yew wand was still sitting on the counter.

Eleanor reached over and picked it up. This time there was no pain or sparks, just a faint feeling of warmth beneath her fingers. She tucked the wand into her pocket.

As Millie waved goodbye to her outside the store, she found that she was very excited to be going to Hogwarts.


	2. Orpheus Lloyd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mention of animal dissection. Mention of infection/scarring. Very brief appearance by creepy entitled dude.
> 
> Let me know if there's anything else.

The jars of ingredients on the Apothecary shelves were filled with everything from dried plants to pickled frog spleens. Orpheus couldn’t help but feel sorry for the frogs when he read that label, and wandered back to where his grandmother was having a lengthy conversation with Amelia Waxingthorpe, the old witch who ran the Apothecary. She was exactly the kind of person Orpheus could imagine disemboweling frogs and calmly separating out each organ, although his grandmother lamented that poor Amelia was too arthritic to do such fiddly work these days. Either the task was assigned to one of the younger staff or the ingredient would have to be ordered in.

Currently, Amelia was deriding the poor education of what she invariably referred to as Young People These Days, who couldn’t tell an amphibian’s small intestine from its large one. “That Bethany tried to pass off salamander liver as skink stomach, could you believe?” she said, as his grandmother nodded in agreement. “I’ve heard they don’t even teach proper dissection at Hogwarts anymore, more’s the pity.”

“It is no good,” his grandmother replied sadly. “In my youth…”

Orpheus started walking towards the front of the store, not wanting to hear about what everything was like back in the day for the umpteenth time. Due to the frequent travel involved in his parents’ diplomatic service, Orpheus spent at least nine months of the year living with his widowed grandmother, and he might as well have had the words _In my youth_ branded on the inside of his skull. Nothing was quite as good as it had been ten years ago, which in turn was inferior to twenty years ago, and both were triumphed over by how things were thirty years ago. His grandmother had the astonishing ability to forget that ten years ago, she had just lost her husband; twenty years ago, she had been in hiding during the second war; and thirty-something years ago, she had narrowly escaped being killed by Death Eaters in the first war. She certainly couldn’t remember what it was like being young.

A dark-haired woman and her son entered the store, putting an end to his grandmother’s lament. They both had the same upturned nose, resulting in a permanent expression of faint disgust. The boy was a couple of inches taller than Orpheus and looked distinctly unpleasant. He looked curiously at Orpheus, sizing him up; Orpheus glowered at him and moved away. His grandmother took up her shopping bags and bid farewell to Amelia before guiding Orpheus out of the shop. As soon as they were outside, she demanded, “Why can’t you be nice to that boy in there? You could have made a friend.”

“I _have_ friends, Nonna,” he replied coldly. “Only they can’t remember me, and I can’t ever see them again.”

“And who is to blame for that? You are the one who risked our secret, and now you are unhappy because these thing affect you?” Her gaze bore into him and he was forced to look away. “No, you will go to Hogwarts and you will make new friends. You are lucky that they will still let you go.”

 _Lucky…_ He supposed he was lucky, in the same way a child born with a disease that should kill them by four was lucky to live to fourteen. A dangerous incident had always been just around the corner, and he had pushed the boundaries more than his mother ever had. He had gone to school with other children, been out of magical supervision for six hours every weekday for years. When the Ministry Obliviators had arrived, they had interrogated his parents over the decision to let him near Muggles at all. “They’re even more susceptible than we are,” one witch had scolded. “We’re lucky no-one was killed.”

Lucky. Merlin knew he had been lucky. But that didn’t make it easier to lose so much so quickly.

“Are you sulking, Orpheus?” his grandmother demanded.

“No,” he lied. “I was trying to think of what else we need to get. That Charms book?”

“No, I bought it last week. We need you to be fitted for proper robes — you can’t wear this—” she gestured at his faded t-shirt and too-short jeans “— at school. _Ahimè_ , you have grown again! We should buy you pants that you must fold up to the knee and let them down as you grow.”

His grandmother punctuated the walk to _Madame Malkin’s_ with various instructions about how he was to behave at Hogwarts: smile at people, obey his teachers, study hard, and most importantly, stay out of trouble.

“I will, Nonna,” he said for the fifth time as they entered the robe store. A squat white-haired witch approached them immediately — Madam Malkin, another of his grandmother’s friends. Orpheus would have made easy money betting that his nonna knew every second shop-owner in Diagon Alley.

“Marilina, how good to see you! Is it Orpheus’s first year at Hogwarts already? I remember when Naida was first here, it must be forty years ago…” Madam Malkin quickly took his measurements and then sent Orpheus off to sit on a stool at the back of the shop while she pinned up a set of school robes and chatted with his grandmother. As he waited, he wondered what it had been like for his mother when she first came to Diagon Alley. His grandmother’s family were Greek but had moved to Italy when she was a young child; many years later, Nonna had married Orpheus’s grandfather and were planning to have a family when they too were forced to leave their country, for reasons Nonna never wanted to discuss; Orpheus’s mother was born the week his grandparents had first reached British soil. They kept Naida away from both Muggles and wizards, until she received her Hogwarts acceptance letter — her trip to Diagon Alley would have been the first time his mother had ever walked among a crowd. Perhaps such a lonely upbringing was why his mother had insisted he be allowed to go to Muggle school — even if it had ended in disaster. The enforced absence of music had certainly been why she had taught him piano from an early age, even if singing was still banned.

Emerging from his musings, he slowly realised that there were people talking in the aisle behind him. They were hidden by racks of robes in all colours and styles, but their voices were quite clear.

“You won’t even give me a chance! It’s your fault, anyway.”

“ _My_ fault? What’s my fault, _your_ creepiness?”

“You know what I mean. Everyone knows you’re a bloody half-breed, you—”

Abruptly, Orpheus stopped hearing the voice. He felt his heart beating faster and his delicate hands curled into fists. His throat burned but he pressed his mouth shut firmly as he slid off the stool and walked towards where he could see two pairs of legs beneath the robe hems. The offending speaker’s upper ankles were covered only by thin grey socks; Orpheus reached out and dug his fingernails into their Achilles tendon.

The scream of pain drew Madam Malkin’s attention immediately — she descended on the pair in a fury and, identifying Orpheus’s victim as the aggressor, all but threw him out of the shop. “Let me know if he comes back,” Orpheus heard Madam Malkin say to the remaining person. “Did he just give you a fright? Or did he hurt you?”

“He just scared me,” a feminine voice replied. “He’s been following me around… Can I stay here for a little while, Madam Malkin?”

Madam Malkin readily agreed and moved on to serving another customer. The girl whose conversation Orpheus had heard knelt down and saw him through the hanging robes. “Not that Geoffrey didn't deserve that, but I’m perfectly capable of hexing him myself.”

“He shouldn’t have said…” Orpheus couldn’t make himself repeat the word.

“Half-breed?” The girl looked surprised when he winced, then realisation struck. “Oh, you’re one too, huh?” She helped him to his feet. “I’m Dom, by the way. My great-grandmother was a Veela.”

“I’m Orpheus,” he replied cautiously. “There’s, um, there’s siren blood in my family. I don’t know how far back it goes.”

Dom grinned. “Can’t be too recent, as you don’t have flippers.”

He shrugged. “I had webbed fingers when I was born, same as my mum and grandma. Mum and I both had them cut when we were babies.” His grandmother had had to cut hers much later in life, and they had become infected; her hands still bore thick scarring.

Colour was returning to Dom’s face, and Orpheus realised that she wasn’t as pale as she had first appeared — maybe Geoffrey really _had_ scared her. She kept her tone light, though. “Shame, you could’ve started a Hogwarts swim team. My little brother’s mad about swimming at the moment — Maman has to lock the doors so he won’t go running down to the beach at all hours.”

“Webbing doesn’t help much without a tail.”

“It’s never the fun bits which get passed down, is it?” Dom sighed dramatically. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to throw fireballs or grow wings.”

“I’d much rather gills than siren song,” Orpheus admitted.

Dom looked curiously at him. “You mean you can…?”

“Call sailors onto the rocks? Yeah.” He hesitated — Dom was a stranger, but she might understand in a way his grandmother couldn't. “I… At my old school, I had a friend called Emmy.” His best friend. She was the loud and boisterous to his quiet and shy. “She used to get into fights with the other boys, and one lunchtime about five of them ganged up on her.” Emmy had been crying. He’d never heard her cry before in his life. “I couldn’t pull them off, so I…”

“Had a Pied Piper moment?” Dom filled in.

“Pretty much. The whole class needed to be Obliviated — not just of that lunchtime, but of me too. The Obliviators said they had to. Emmy doesn’t even recognise me now.” He bit his lip, willing himself not to cry.

Dom patted his shoulder awkwardly. “That’s really shit. I mean, do you have any friends left? Do you know any other wizards or witches your age?”

Orpheus shook his head. “There weren’t any Muggleborns at my school, and I’ve never spent much time with other wizards and witches, aside from Nonna’s friends.”

They were interrupted by Madam Malkin returning with Orpheus’s new school robes. “Try those on,” she instructed him, before turning to Dom. “Ah, Dominique, you must know Orpheus through your grandmother.”

“We just met,” Dom replied. She peered over Madam Malkin’s shoulder and broke into a grin. “Brilliant, Bonnie’s here. Thanks for letting me loiter in your shop, Madam Malkin. See you later, Orpheus.” She greeted her friend at the door and they disappeared into the crowd outside.

“One of Molly Weasley’s grandchildren,” Madam Malkin explained. “I’m certain Marilina knows Molly, you should ask her. Now, I need to take in your sleeves a little.”

Almost an hour later, Orpheus was finally released from _Madam Malkin’s_ with a new cloak and perfectly fitted school robes that his grandmother grumbled would need to be let down in two months time. They paid a quick trip to Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment to pick up two pairs of dragonhide gloves — one pair for Hogwarts, the other for his grandmother’s gardening, as her current pair were wearing thin, much to her disapproval. As they were leaving the store, they were greeted by a tiny old wizard who Orpheus had never met before. “Good to see you, Marilina! How is Naida these days? Off to Brazil last I heard.”

His grandmother nodded politely, but Orpheus got the impression she didn’t welcome his approach. “She is well, Filius, and yourself?”

“Getting on a bit, you know, but I can still manage my classes and the choir,” he said cheerfully. “Is this your grandson?” He turned to Orpheus. “You must be going to Hogwarts this year, or next year at the latest. I’m Professor Flitwick, Charms master and head of Ravenclaw House.” The professor shook Orpheus’s hand warmly. “Oh, I remember when your mother was at Hogwarts, she used to come to every choir practice and just listen to the music… It took me almost two years to persuade her to join.”

“Mum was in a _choir?_ ” Orpheus asked incredulously. “But she…”

“The voice? But singing regularly is the only way to learn to control it, my dear boy. Otherwise every time you start singing in the shower, the whole common room will come running.”

Orpheus stared; his grandmother’s hand tightened its grip on his shoulder. “It's not worth the risk,” she said coldly. “Orpheus has already lost his temper and nearly exposed us; he is not to be encouraged.”

She bid Professor Flitwick a curt farewell and marched Orpheus off towards the Leaky Cauldron. As they approached the Cauldron, someone brushed past Orpheus and pressed something into his hand. He turned to see who it was and caught a flash of strawberry blond hair before the figure was enveloped in the crowd. He held the object in his hand tightly as they entered the pub and went to the fireplace. His grandmother threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fire, and they both stepped into the green flames.

It was only when his grandmother sent him to his bedroom to pack his new school things that Orpheus let his fingers open and saw the folded up bit of parchment. Carefully, making sure not to tear it at the creases, he unfolded the note. It read:

_Wherever you get sorted, ask me and I can get my cousin Molly to show you where the choir meets. Flitwick understands — he’s one of us. - Dominique_

_One of us._ Orpheus felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps Hogwarts had something to offer after all.


End file.
